


24 Letters

by SephrinaRose



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Blood, Death, Gen, Gore, Paranormal, Psychological Termoil, Tragedy, dark themes, ghost - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-19
Updated: 2015-03-19
Packaged: 2018-03-18 14:51:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3573752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SephrinaRose/pseuds/SephrinaRose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Twenty four letters. </p><p>Twenty four days since this all started. Twenty four days of pain and suffering. Of grief and blood. And Scott hated it. He hated it more than the sight of his eyes, shining icy blue in the eeriy dark of his bedroom. </p><p>Because he had always known that Stiles was going to drive him insane.</p><p>Just not like this...never like this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	24 Letters

**Author's Note:**

> This is seriously psychotic. I don't even know where the hell this came from.
> 
> Trigger Warnings: Gore, Death, Angst, Suicide Elements and Thoughts.

Scott cursed.

He gripped the letter in his hand, crushing and crinkling the parchment. The already disfigured red words contorted on the page where he gripped it.

It was writing. The same writing as the past 20 letters. Same shape, same size, same handwriting, same substance.. _same colour._

He hated this so much. He wished it would just stop. Just stop arriving on his pillow every day when he got got home from school.

Scott opened his desk draw violently, shoving the paper inside the stuffed draw, filled with others off exactly the same kind. He put it on top of the 20 others...making it now 21.

21 days. 21 gruelling days.

He hated this so so much. But there was something he hated more...

And that was the smell.

The smell from those letters. It was a familiar smell...The smell of blood. Fresh, Crimson blood that slowly dried to a dark and flaky red in his draw, still allowing the words to be visible. But, while that scent was frequent in Scott's life....it was also who the blood belonged to.

But he didn't want to think about that right now. He'd been thinking about it for the past 21 days, and he was going to make full use of this anger as a reprieve.

Because he would do anything to just stop thinking.

Just to stop seeing anything and everything, and reminding himself that everything was different now. That his life would never be the same.

He would never get over this. And he would never stop rethinking every reaction he'd had in that scenario, and remind himself over and over of what he could have done differently.

What he could of done to change this.

...hindsight was a real bitch.

 

Because he couldn't do anything. Couldn't save them now....they were gone. Just like that. But, he couldn't help just think and think and _think_.

Mull over every second....as though it could change things.

But that was never going to work.

 

______

 

"Why didn't you save me?"

Scott hissed, turning back over in his bed. He pulled the pillow up to cover his ears, as if it could stop the whispers.

But they never stopped.

It was always when he was alone. Always when everything was quiet.

Always when he felt his worst.

"Why didn't you save me, Scott?" Was the whisper, its eerie sound piercing through his pillow as though it did nothing to muffle the voice.

Scott knew it would do nothing. He knew because he had tried everything. Earplugs, ear muffs, shoving cotton wool in his ears.

Nothing. He couldn't run away from it either. It was always here, in his room...waiting for him

"Why didn't you save me?" The whisper cut through him, the familiar voice playing around with his heart.

"I'm sorry." He whispered, hands over his pillow and shoving it into his head from both sides...trying to block it all out.

"Why?" The whisper still cut through him, like it was from his own subconscious...but it wasn't. It wasn't his voice. It was somebody else's.

"I'm sorry! I can't say anything other than that I'm sorry! Please, please stop it. Please go away. Please leave me alone."

"You didn't save me...you killed me."

He felt the warmth seep from the room as the icy presence hovered over him. Scott screwed his eyes tightly shut, facing towards his wall and hoping he would succumb to exhaustion soon.

That was the only way he fell asleep these days.

"Oh god...please go away. Go away, go away, go _away._.." He muttered like a mantra, trying to block out the pain and the grief.

"Never...I'm never leaving you alone." The freezing and warmth destroying presence hovered so close to his back, he felt as though he had ice against this back. His skin was covered by goosebumps, and he shivered. Both from the onslaught of grief and the cold.

"Oh, _God_.... _please Stiles_." He whispered, tears running down his face

"...never."

And then the cold touched his skin. It burned him a way in no way fire could, piercing right though to his flesh and bones, and puncturing his heart and soul with millions of ice shards.

He screamed. Screamed out because of the paralysing grief and pain and guilt...

And then he knew no more.

 

_____

 

"Why didn't you save me?"

"No!" Scott cried, the voice arriving just as silence fell. "No! Leave me alone!" He pulled his sheet over his head, blocking out his surroundings with peaceful baby blue.

Shame it couldn't block out sound.

"Why did you kill me?" Was the eerie reply, echoing through his mind.

"I didn't! It was an accident!" He cried, curling up into a ball.

"...you killed me."

"I didn't! I didn't kill you! It wasn't my fault!" He growled, grief turning to boiling anger.

"It's all your fault..."

"No!" He yelled, foolishly throwing back is covers.

...and saw the presence he had been avoiding.

The boy looked so damaged...so broken. He stood there like he used to... Just in the middle of Scott's room, minus the smile and the _life_.

His face was gaunt, his eyes were dark. He looked like the way he did when he was possessed...but more dark and diseased and destroyed. But he still looked like he was in pain. And his aura...his aura was so cold. So abused. So _dead_.

And he smelt dead. He smelt like a rotting corpse.

But he still smelt the smallest bit like Stiles, like that honey scent he had missed so dearly...but it only served to remind him that this was Stiles had become. It wasn't a stranger. It was his best friend.

The boy lifted his scratched and bruised left hand, bringing it to his soft torso. Scott could only watch on, immobilised by his grief...as Stiles nudged away the ripped fabric of his shirt and shoved his hand inside himself.

Into the deep, gaping gash that was hidden within the darkness of his slashed shirt.

A disgusting squelching noise echoed around the empty room, making Scott feel sick to his stomach. Stiles was buried wrist deep in the gasping hole in his vulnerable torso.

Blood splattered to Scott's floors, joining the stain that was still there from 21 days ago...no matter how hard he scrubbed at it. The bright Crimson was the dead boys only colour, spreading down the front of his grey shirt.

And he kept pushing deeper.

The boys dead stare never left his own, and Scott was completely overwhelmed with the urge to vomit, and to sob.

"Stop it! Stop it! Just _f*cking stop it_!" He screamed, crying and clutching at his chest in pain. He feel back into his own bed, tearing at his clothing.

"...never."

Scott screamed and cried until exhaustion claimed him.

 

______

 

Scott stumbled inside his front door, bags under his eyes and a deep tiredness residing in his soul.

Nobody talked about it, not anymore.

He felt like he was the only one that remembered.

His mother stopped coming to comfort him when he screamed late at night, learned not to actually. And...she seemed to be taking a whole lot more night shifts recently.

So he was left alone, with the bloodstains on his carpet and with the presence in his room.

The one that was supposed to be in his grave...6ft buried and decaying.

He hadn't meant for it to happen...it had been an accident. Everyone told him it wasn't his fault.. but, it had still been his claws that had buried into Stiles's soft but scarred flesh, just the same as when the Nogitsune cut him open.

He remembered they way it felt as his skin gave way, how his muscles and organs tore beneath his sharp claws....

He remembered coming out of it...and he remembered watching the light fade from Stiles' eyes with his hand still inside his body. He remembered the feeling of Stiles' limp body cooling around his hand, and the feeling of his best friends blood covering him, seeping into his clothes and drying against his flesh. Turning to flakes when he finally moved...when Derek found him.

So...why didn't he save him? My didn't he do anything? Why did he just sit there, his best friend dying in his arms?

Because he was a throughly f*cked up being.

 

He was a complete idiot...always had been. He never did anything right, only just enough that everyone scraped through..

But not this time. This time it just happened without control. Just the wrong place at the wrong time as people would say.

Because it had been the full moon. Scott had been a little agitated and Stiles had burst into his room, eager to tell him something...as he always had. Ever since they where children. Since they became best friends when they were tiny little kids...just tiny kids in a big bad world.

Now look how they turned out. One was a werewolf...and the other was dead.

Stiles had always made him jump at his sudden appearances. Always. He should be so used to it...and he should have been in control.

But this time....this time he'd turned around sharply, claws out without his control. And he had slashed through his flesh. Deeply...So deeply that Scott felt Stiles' spine against his claws.

He had died in just under a minute.

And Scott had counted. He done absolutely nothing helpful...just gone to his knees with his best friend impaled on his arm....but he had _counted_. He'd counted every frantic beat of Stiles heart, every single hitched and dying breath.

And now that's all he had left of him. Just the memory of the sound of his dying breaths and faltering heart...

Except his ghost. Which apparently was a corporal form..meaning it - _he?_ \- had a body... But dead? And that it liked to add to the blood that stained his carpets.

Thanks dead Stiles. Thank you so very much.

Because that contribution was needed. Just to make him feel so much better.

Just what his mental health needed.

 

Because he knew that he was in a seriously bad shape...who else saw the ghost of this dead best friend? He was surprised he hadn't been checked into the Eichen House yet...but then again, he wouldn't want to go.

While he'd get to leave, get to vacate his room and the ghost that never seemed to leave the room he/it died in..It would just remind him of all the pain Stiles went through within its walls, trapped by his own mind.

So neither way really won at all.

 

_____

 

"My mothers not here, Scott"

Scott tightened his grip on his pencil, knuckles whitening as he tried to finish his homework.

One night. He'd thought....just _one_ night. One night without this pain. But apparently the universe thought that he didn't deserve that.

...And it was probably right.

 

"Thought she might have been, you know, now that we are _both_ dead. But she wasn't...and now there's just nothing....nothing Scott."

The ghost approached him. He didn't turn to look...he just knew. There was a certain _wrongness_ that radiated from his body, resonating with Scott's supernatural side. He could feel the death and destruction seeping like tar into his own soul.

But even that couldn't compare to the ache in his heart.

"It's just an empty space. So empty and sad...and I am completely alone, Scott."

Stiles had always been so full of life and love....but now his voice was just blank. Blank and lifeless. A dark and sickly comparison of the voice he once had.

Just like the rest of him.

 

_____

 

Letter 24.

Twenty four. Twenty four letters. Twenty four days since this all started.

Twenty four days since he had killed Stiles.

Twenty four days of pain and suffering.

 

And he deserved all of it. He deserved every moment...every second. Because he did this.

He _murdered_ his best friend.

 

The boy that had never left his side, no matter how hard to got. The boy that fought for him with every cell in his body. The boy that had loyalty so fierce, so strong. The boy that he'd loved....the boy that was his brother.

And he'd killed him. Shoved his claws past his muscle and organs, inside his body. Shoved his hand in so far that he'd held Stiles's spine in his hands.

So he deserved _every_ minute.

And Stiles had warned him. Told him at the very beginning of this werewolf adventure that he'd have to be careful. Be careful of others, and of himself.

It had been his motto. He'd lived by it. He vowed to never hurt an innocent. To hurt one of his friends.

And then he'd taken Stiles's life.

He was a murderer.

 

Scott looked across at his mirror on the wall, clutching the fresh letter in his hand. He looked at himself. At his dark circles and his messy hair.

And then he looked at his eyes.

Because they weren't red. They were the piercing red colour that ironically told of his purity. Of his pure and raw power. Power that was his own, was only there because he had made it from the deepest parts of the fragments of his being. Practically radiation warmth, strength....power.

But they were blue.

Ice blue. No warmth. No life. Piercing and cold. And they were frozen, like he was looking into a icy cold abyss. All they had become was unforgiving... and _cold_.

So cold.

And it was always said that the eyes were the windows to the soul.

Because there was nothing left. His power wasn't his anymore, he wasn't a "True Alpha". He was a murderer. Just a werewolf that had taken an innocent life.

They were cold, fractured... broken.

Just like his soul.

 

_____

 

Stiles was in his chair when he got home from school.

And for a second...it had been like Stiles had never left. There he was, just spinning around in his desk chair absently, curled up on the leather and staring up at the ceiling.

And he'd believed it. His heart rate had soared and he could feel the relaxing wave of of relief wash over him and wipe all his anxiety _away_...

Before Stiles looked at him.

 

Turned his levelled gaze onto Scott, still spinning in the chair but eyes staring at him as he turned. And when Stiles looked at him, it virtually hit Scott in the face that this boy in front of him was not Stiles. He staggered, bag becoming heavy in his arms as his relief jumped off a cliff.

Because it wasn't Stiles.

Stiles didn't smell of death.

Scott shook his head to clear his thoughts, walking over to his bed with tense shoulders. He placed his bag on the bed, fighting against every defensive instinct in his body by turning his back to the evil presence. Letting the danger out of sight.

Because that was all Stiles was now.

A danger. To him and his mind.

"You wanna know why I'm here?" Stiles asked suddenly, still spinning, head turned back to the ceiling.

Scott winced, hoping he could avoid conversation today. Because today...he didn't know if he could handle it.

But he knew Stiles wasn't just asking him if he wanted to know why he was here right now. He knew he meant in general. Like, _why are you haunting me?_

And that was information he couldn't afford to miss. Because information like that could help him make it all go away.

"Yes." He said, clipped and steady. Trying desperately to keep control and not let Stiles in. Because that twisted spirit would really mess with him more than he liked to admit.

Not that it wasn't obvious at all.

"Because I can't leave"

Scott's head snapped up like a dog, turning to look at Stiles incredulously. But Stiles just continued to turn, head craned up and the bloody stains on his tee-shirt evident in the light.

Because he'd thought Stiles had been haunting him on purpose. That he chose to stay and torment him for the rest of his days. What if this hadn't been him? What if...

No. There was nothing light hearted or innocent about this spirit. There was nothing left of Stiles. He was evil. Simply a twisted spirit that fed off his pain.

...Eerily reminding him of the Nogitsune.

"Don't look at me like that, my friend. Always so easy to read.." He trailed off, flicking a hand in the air absently.

 

Scott he'd always tired to find the good in every creature they fought. But now he knew he simply couldn't try to look for the good in everyone and everything.

Because sometimes there just wasn't anything good to find.

 

"I can't leave. Not yet, anyway." He said offhandedly, the turns of his chair still going. Scott had a thought that maybe he should be getting dizzy.

But then he reminded himself that this wasn't human. He couldn't get dizzy. That was a human reaction of the confusion of the brain. There was nothing left of humanity in this... _thing_. 

 

"When will you leave?" He asked, voice tight and constraining.

"When I get what I want." Not-Stiles said with a twisted smirk, the evil expression not fitting on his best friends face.

Scott stumbled back, falling onto his bed. His eyes were wide, shaken. What could he possibly want? Scott had already lost Stiles. He had nothing to give this spirit.

Not when he'd lost his best friend . Not when he lost the light that was at the end of this tunnel, promising normality and peace. Not when he'd lost the only thing that anchored him to simple and peaceful mundane life.

Because he didn't have anyone to play COD with anymore. Or to watch Star Wars with. Or to relax with, to laugh with.

Because he'd killed him.

"Didn't you ever watch those scary movies with me, Scott? The ones with ghosts? Or were you too busy texting Allison?" Stiles asked him, smirk turning malicious with anger.

And to Scott it felt like he had lost the last of his innocence. Because that smirk should never belong anywhere on Stiles face. It was like he was possessed...but he wasn't.

This _was_ Stiles...or what was left of him.

 

Nothing felt right. This was Stiles...but it wasn't. Nothing was familiar, nothing was assured. Nothing was the same anymore. But then again...Stiles had always been the one to find the facts and assure him of them.

Stiles was dead...because of him. So it made sense that his life was never be complete, nor make sense ever again.

"I'm a ghost Scott. Have my regrets...and you are my last regret." Scott curled up into a ball on his bed, wincing at his words. Because Scott had killed him. Scott had _murdered_ him.

And his heart shattered just that little bit more.

 

"I regret that I couldn't take you with me" the spinning suddenly stopped, and Stiles feet were square on the ground...eyes glaring right at him.

Scott flinched, wanting to under his covers and hid like he used to. Hide like he'd did when this all began.

But pretending that everything was okay just didn't cut it anymore.

"W-Why? You want me?" Scott asked, heart in his throat and sweat beading on his forehead...because he didn't understand.

Not understanding was a commonplace for him..but not like this. He didn't know what this evil spirit of Stiles would want him for. He killed the boy, so it made no sense that Stiles would want to be near his murderer.

"Aw? Don't wanna play COD with me in heaven Scott? Don't wanna see me anymore just because I'm dead?" Stiles said, standing and looking down at him with malicious glee.

And Scott had never felt smaller.

 

"Well here the deal Ol' Scottie boy. I'm dead. You murdered me. I died when I was sixteen on your f*cking claws. I did nothing wrong..but you did."

Scott blocked his ears against the words, curling back onto his bed with his arms over his ears. He didn't want to hear it. He couldn't hear it. Not again. Not when it was the only thing that circulated his mind. Over and over. He didn't need this thing with Stiles face forcing it down his throat.

"I'm dead because of you. I died with your hand cradling my f*cking spine. You killed me, murdered me...destroyed me. And now I'm going to do the same."

He felt hands on him, gripping his arms with a grip Stiles never had. Scott struggled and fought as his arms where lifted from his ears, staring and tugging in his limbs as they were tugged harshly by the freezing ice grip.

He felt hot and angry tears on his cheek, fighting a loosing battle.

Because he knew he'd done this. He knew that he'd destroyed Stiles. Destroyed his youth and his life. He knew it was his fault. He knew, damnit.

And he couldn't do this. He couldn't have this twisted Stiles reminding him everyday of his worst mistake. He couldn't hear it.

And it wasn't couldn't like he just didn't want to hear it. It was because he didn't know he he could physically or mentally handle this angst and pain consuming his soul. He was just so, _so_ sorry. And that was all he could say. It was the only word in the English language that could express the deep sadness and guilt residing in the fabric of his being. Just _sorry_.

But sorry couldn't make it better. Sorry couldn't bring Stiles back.

Sorry couldn't fix this. Couldn't fix Scott. Couldn't fix Stiles. It couldn't do anything. He couldn't even make him feel better in the slightest. It was completely useless.

But it was all he had. All he could say.

Just _I'm so sorry, Stiles._

 

And he didn't know how many times he said it, crying and mumbling the words as Stiles held him down, sitting over his shaking body. His freezing cold body seeping the warmth and life from Scott, and the smell of death from his being, permeating Scott's nostril's.

"Come on Scottie Boy. It's all too much isn't it? Too much pain? Because you can feel it in your bones, can't you Scottie? Feel my presence all the way into your soul. Because I'm already there. I'm already there, Scottie. I'm already in. All you have to do is let go."

"No! No! _No!_ Sorry! I'm sorry! Please... _please_ no!" He kept crying, words jumping and distorting into a language unknown.

And he heard Stiles hiss, a hand leaving his arm. And Scott tried to struggle, to grasp at the near found freedom.

Before he felt the unmistakeable feeling on congealed blood on his own stomach, Stiles hand within his own torso.

And he screamed.

He screamed a loud, piercing wail. Echoing around him, surrounding him with the echoing sound of his own pain. He felt Stiles laugh over him. But even the sound of his horrible grating laughter couldn't compare to horrified sound of his screams. 

He felt Stiles hands on his face, smearing his cold blood all over Scott's face. He was laughing, grinning insanely with his pale complexion and sunken eyes.

 

And he wanted it to just stop. Wanted it all to go away. He couldn't do this anymore. Couldn't live with this image of Stiles. The distorted soul of his best friend, destroyed because of what Scott did to him.

He couldn't live everyday knowing that he'd forced Stiles to become this.

He raised his hand, and Stiles let him. He unleashed his wolf, letting his power rise up and snap his claws out. He held it above his stomach, crying and wailing. Tears blurred his vision as he looked up his dead best friend, so dark and broken.

He hoped that severe he went...he'd get to see Stiles again. The part of his soul untouched by all this hatred and grief.

If there was any part left.

But even if there wasn't any part of him left...he couldn't do this. He couldn't live when Stiles could not. Not when he took away his chance at life.

And so he plunged his claws inside his torso, feeling his own tissue and organs give way almost the same way Stiles did. He felt his claws against his own spine in some sort of grotesque déjà-vu.

But then the pain hit. And, once again...he screamed.

Because this hurt like hell. Felt like getting thrown into a wall a thousand times over, and hit by a speeding tow truck. He tried to pull his claws out, but Stiles held them in. Pushing them down further and letting blood spill from around them, coating his stomach along with Stiles blood.

They'd always joked that they would be blood brothers.

 

"Can't let you heal now, can we?" Stiles said, grinning with glee. But Scott didn't know how he heard him over the crying and sobbing.

He felt the world around him set alight, burning away everything he had known and loved. He felt it spread, reaching out to him and burning through him like wildfire from his extremities and towards his heart. He looked up in one last moment of clarity, watching his dead best friend.

And the boy smiled. So damaged and grotesque in his dark and sick complexion.

"See you in hell Scott!" He yelled above Scott screaming.

And then he was gone.

Finally. After all those weeks of pain and suffering. Of blood and death. He felt relief claim him. Because it was all over. No more pain, no more letters, no more guilt weighing on Scott's soul.

Because Stiles was gone.

And so was he.


End file.
